Strangers United
by rose4u
Summary: The Winchesters are great hunters. But they aren't the only hunters. And although the brothers may sometimes feel like they are alone, they could always count on strangers to unite and help raise a little hell.


Strangers United

by rose4u

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_Chapter 1: Bobby_

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Bobby was used to having the supernatural come knocking on his door. Ever since Sam and Dean came around, asking about demons and _John_, things around the junkyard wasn't quite what it used to be. More hours were spent crouching over obscure texts for ways to kill rare monsters that the Winchester had an affinity for.

It was true that Bobby spent most of his time helping the boys (they went through hunts like Bobby went through hard liquor but that didn't mean those two were the only hunters that came around.

"So, what do you think Bobby? A combustion job?"

But he had to say, Bobby felt a sense of trepidation whenever Steve came along to visit.

"You're not going to use your _chemicals_ are you?" Bobby glanced at the thirty-five year old chemistry professor by day and hunter by night man, who (putting it lightly) had slight pyromaniac tendencies. Steve, who was once a fit young man who tracked wendigos across the country with only a cell phone, a FBI badge and a carrot fell in love with the idea of thermodynamics and got a degree in advanced chemistry. The man still hunted around the New York area where his university is, but chemistry was the guy's life now.

But he still came along to visit Bobby, investigating jobs along the way.

"Well..." Steve had this verbal tick where he extended his vowels longer than necessary. Bobby had gotten used to it over the years, but he bet Steve's students weren't too happy listening to it for...well he didn't quite know how long classes in college were these days. "If it's a ghost, like you said, then wouldn't it be nice to just boil these _chemicals_ to vaporization point, and disperse them into the air? And poof! The ghost and all it's hauntings will disappear!"

Bobby stared at Steve's mad gestures, "I don't think it works quite like that, Steve."

"Grumpy old man," Steve mumbled, his hands still shaking with energy. "You don't let me have any fun. How about you leave the science to me and go back to your obscure texts. I for one, can take care of it myself."

Bobby shook his head. "No offense, Steve. But..."Bobby shut his mouth, knowing whatever coming out wasn't going to be _nice. _Then again, when had Bobby censored his shit? But Steve was a...delicate soul.

Steve waited, his feet tapping. Bobby sighed, "Oh. Bite me. Frankly, Steve. You're not what you used to be."

"What do you _mean _by that?"

Bobby said curtly, "I mean, that you've let yourself go. Look at that beer belly. You can't go hunting alone like that unless you want a death wish."

"Then you should go with me," Steve said, smiling widely, almost comically. Bobby just stared; he had forgotten how much of an idiot Steve really was. He remember one time when the pair was hunting vampires in California a few years ago, where Steve accidentally caused a forest fire that killed half the park's ecosystem. And the guy didn't even budge. Spewed crap about _Science_ and all that. "One thing I learned from being a professor is that most of the time, the students won't answer your questions. You just have to answer them yourself and hope that they understand what you're saying."

Before he could say that what Steve said made no sense, Steve was already out of the door, whistling some tune that a grown man should not be singing.

"Balls!"

Bobby trailed after him, grabbing a few cell phones and a handgun on the table. He swore if that man got him killed, he was going to come back and haunt that little bastard.

Luckily, it didn't seem a too hard of a job. Two hours and five pit stops later (Steve always did have a small bladder), they finally got to the house. Bobby took a look around the neighborhood; he hadn't been in this part of South Dakota in ages. He sighed loudly, only to roll his eyes as one of the phones he was carrying buzzed.

"Hello?" Bobby asked, as he followed Steve toward the last house on the street. Typical.

Steve silently pointed to the house's main yard, encased what looked to be a 7 foot fence. Bobby watched halfhardedly as Steve jumped up and tried to climb.

"No, Garth. You use _silver_ not mercury for skinwalkers." Bobby said sighing in exasperated. He kept on ear on the phone and watched as Steve crawled to the other side, breathing harshly as he wiped his brow. Bobby just kicked the door harshly, and walked in. "How are you still alive?"

Bobby didn't see Steve stare at the open fence gate comically as he turned off his cell phone. He walked up the stairs to the front door.

"Young hunters these days, right?" Steve said casually as Bobby picked at the keyhole of the front door.

"Yeah," Bobby said, not really paying attention. With the door finally open, Bobby quickly brought out his handgun and pointed it to the darkness. "You said the ghost appeared in the basement?"

"Yes," Steve said, before reaching over and flicking on the lights. "But it looks safe now. I'm going to bring out the machine from the car. You can stay safe without me right?"

Bobby didn't answer as his cell phone gave another ring. He nodded quickly, as he fished it out, "Hello? Oh, Nina. What do you need?"

Bobby kept the cell phone on his ear, using his shoulder to keep it in place, as he slowly made his way down the hall. "Yes. New papers? Sure. Sure. I can get you that. Not right now though. Old college not working out for you?"

Bobby swerved to the right, sure that he saw a shadow move. Seeing nothing there, he carried on. "The police after you? Again?"

Bobby turned around, hearing Steve clamor up the stairs with a large machine that looked like a grown up version of a humidifier. "I have to go."

Steve dusted his hands and gestured, "Ta-dah! What do you think?"

"That's...interesting," Bobby managed to say, before turning back to the hallway. Seeing a flight of stairs going down, he said, "I think I found the basement."

"Good!" Steve said, pushing the machine across the hallway. He smiled widely and said, "I'll just set this up down there and with a push of a button, the ghost will be burned to crisp."

Bobby wasn't too sure about that. But Steve was a grown man and if he wanted to do something, who was Bobby to tell him otherwise. "I'll get the salt."

Bobby headed toward the kitchen. Pushing the gun down his back pocket, he quickly rummaged through the shelf, looking for some salt. It took a while, because by the time he found the high grade sea salt the household owners kept, Steve was already in the kitchen sighing into the seats.

"You know, as much as I like this, I miss my job. The kids are fantastic these days, Bobby. So much potential. They all have this thirst to learn. By god, if everyone was like that in our day, the world would be a better place. I betcha." Steve had a wistful look on his face. His eyes looked old, as if the man saw things that he'd rather not have seen. Despite the whimsical and often stupid nature this hunter had, Bobby had forgotten just that. That Steve was a hunter through and through. He had seen things, all of them had, and it changed them all.

Steve's parents, who were also hunters, died early in his life while they were hunting down wendigos in Chicago. That's why Steve made it his mission to kill all of those wendigos back in the day, before he realized that what he was doing was crazy and a waste of a valuable life.

In a way, Steve was smarter than all of them. He didn't let his guilt and anger weigh him down.

"So why stay?" Bobby asked, leaning against the table. "Why hunt?"

Steve met Bobby's eyes. "Someone has to."

Bobby nodded, understanding. "But there are more hunters now, Steve. You can afford to retire. Heck, the newer blood is hotter than ever. The Winchesters kids, Dean and Sam, they're better than we were."

"No. You don't understand," Steve said, standing up, his stance strong, "Things have been going crazy lately with the increase of demons. Something's brewing. Something that we never faced before. And it's going to take more than just a handful of hunters to deal with it."

Bobby didn't know what to say. Steve was right. The sense that something was approaching was thick in the air. All the other hunters felt it too.

"How's John by the way?"

"Missing."

Steve sighed, "Poor kids."

"You knew them?" Bobby asked, surprised.

"Briefly." Steve answered, "I think I taught Sam at Stanford for a semester. He was a good kid. A really nice-"

Sudden a loud shatter of lightbulbs pierced through the air, causing the kitchen to be thrown in pitch blackness. Bobby grabbed his gun and roared, "Steve!" before trying to find his way to his hunter friend. Before he could find his friend, he was suddenly thrown into the air, slamming against the kitchen counter. He managed to choke out, "Now would be a good time to press that button!"

"It's not working," Bobby heard Steve shout before he said, "I'm going down to activate it manually."

"No! Steve! Stay-" Steve's voice already sounded farther away. Bobby struggled to gain his bearings in the darkness, the heavy power of the ghost gone. He peered into the darkness, and saw a slight illumination of the ghost heading rapidly toward the direction that Steve probably went.

Cursing, Bobby reached into his pocket and brought out a lighter. Flicking it on, Bobby shouted, "Steve!" Hearing no answer, Bobby quickly followed the ghost, who was ignoring the older hunter and heading straight towards the basement. "Hey, ugly!"

The ghost didn't answer, not that Bobby expected her to. Bobby took a step forward, and whipped out his gun before firing a couple of rounds to get the ghost's attention, "YEah. I'm talking to you."

Before he knew it, Bobby was slammed into the wall with a loud smack. Pictures hanging beside him fell to the ground, glass shattering at his feet. He felt cold hands grab his neck and squeeze. With inhumane strength, he was lifted inches off the ground.

"St-" Bobby tried to say, trying to somehow push the hands off of him. He clawed at his neck, only to feel cold air and his feet kicked rapidly, hoping to get some momentum. He couldn't see anything in the darkness other than the lighter that fell to the ground when he was grabbed, slowly etching its way across the wooden walls. Bobby wasn't so sure what he was scared of most. The ghost or the trail of fire eating through the house.

Suddenly the ghost became visible, and Bobby stared into the eyeless woman hovering from of him. The woman clenched her fists tightly and screamed, causing the silverware from the kitchen drawers to hover into the air, all poising directly at Bobby. The veteran hunter stared at the silverware and couldn't help but think a sarcastic remark.

_Death by fork impalement. Great._

Bobby increased his kicking, but with the lack of oxygen his body was slowly going lethargic. His vision blurred just as all the knives stiffened before running straight at him.

Suddenly Bobby could breath again as the ghost screamed out loud in pain before disappearing. The knives all dropped to the floor, not having the supernatural influence on them and Bobby gasped for a breath. He couldn't recover for long as a sudden explosion sounded underground.

"Steve!" Bobby rushed to his feet, only to hiss when the fire trail his light started turned into a mighty inferno. "Damn it!" A rush of hot air blew past him, and he cursed. Whatever Steve's invention was, it worked but with a price. The flames were licking up the walls, growing higher and higher. This was the only chance Bobby had to get out of the house, and fast before he was trapped here forever.

Hearing another pop of wood, Bobby clenched his teeth and ran straight into the fire. Feeling his hair singe and his flesh beak from the heat, Bobby ran without much though out of the burning house and straight outside. The cold air of the night cooled his burns and Bobby gasped deep cold breaths. Hearing another roar of fire, Bobby turned back to the house, intending to get Steve, who was probably making his way out of the house this very moment.

Bobby took a step forward, only to hear a loud guitar riff.

That was Dean's number.

Bobby glanced back at the house, before cursing and taking his cell phone, which was miraculously uncooked. "Now is not the time."

"Bobby," something was wrong. Deans' voice was wavering and suddenly, all thoughts about Steve, the burning house and ghosts were wiped clean from Bobby's mind.

"What is it boy?"

"Dad. He's dead."

Bobby was already halfway to his home, where Dean and Sam was waiting for him, when he heard on the police of a burning home in South Dakota. There were no bodies found, although the police speculated that the temperatures the fire became was capable of burning human bodies to ash.

But Bobby wasn't worried. Steve was a hunter after all. He could take care of himself.

His sons needed him.


End file.
